The Price You Pay
by Chanel19
Summary: Now settled down with Ron and their teenaged son, Hermione's life seems to be going smoothly until an unexpected discovery proves that what is past is prologue and everything costs
1. An Unexpected Discovery

An Unexpected Discovery

"Alright, read chapter 12 of **The Goblin Wars**, for next week. Expect a quiz, so do your reading." Hermione smiled at the soft groan that rose up from the class. As the students began collecting their things to leave, Hermione noticed Cleary's hand was raised. "Yes, Mr. Cleary."

"When will we be talking about the last war?" Cleary's voice rang out, and to Hermione's discomfort the whole room went silent and even students that were headed for the door stopped and turned to see what she'd say.

"The war with Voldemort isn't part of the curriculum of this class," she replied.

Unfortunately, Cleary was undeterred. "What class covers that material?"

"Not this one, Mr. Cleary," Hermione said. "Class dismissed."

She looked up and caught Art's eye as he was collecting his things at the back of the room. She sighed as he looked away. As she gathered her own things, she wondered at the turn around in his personality in the last year. When he had first come to Hogwarts, it had comforted him that his mother was there. He sat in the front of her class and raised his hand all the time; he came to see her in her office several times a week. Last year, he'd moved to the middle of the class and raised his hand less often; he hardly visited at all. This year, at the ripe old age of 13, he seemed to be unwilling to acknowledge her at all. He sat in the back of the class, wouldn't raise his hand, and wouldn't even look at her. He avoided her in the halls and on the rare occasions that he came home for the weekend, he insisted on meeting her outside the front gate, rather than come to her office and take the Floo from there. Hermione sighed again as she heaved the heavy bag of parchment on to her shoulder. She tried not to take Art's surliness personally. After all, she'd read all the parenting books. This was a normal part of the maturation process. Still she wished it didn't have to be so hard on her.

When she opened her office door she was surprised to see Ron sitting behind her desk with his feet up on it reading **The Daily Prophet**.

"Ron? What are you doing here?"

He looked up at her and smiled. "I can't just stop by to see my wife?"

Hermione set down the bag of parchment. "Well, you can, but I'll be home in a couple of hours."

Ron dropped his feet. "Actually, I stopped by for a little slap and tickle. I thought it would be fun in your office. We can leave the door unlocked for added excitement."

Hermione's mouth dropped open.

Ron laughed. "Just kidding, but now you're thinking about it aren't you." He was delighted with the blush of pink that crossed her cheeks and laughed harder.

"Shut up, you." Hermione tried to appear cross, but Ron just continued snickering.

Finally he pulled himself together. "Really, I'm here for the boys. Harry wants help cleaning out Mrs. Figg's house. Apparently, she never threw anything away."

"I still can't believe she left everything to him," Hermione said as she moved a mountain of books off the chair in front of her desk and sat down. "It's not as if she'd even seen him in ages."

Ron shrugged. "No heirs, I reckon she felt a connection to him."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Lots of people that don't actually have one feel a connection to Harry, that doesn't mean they all put him in their wills."

"Well, maybe they do and this is just the first of many more to come."

Hermione thought that sounded horrific. "Well, let's hope it doesn't come to that."

"Anyway, I'm here to fetch Artie and Clive."

"Don't call him Artie, Ron. He's Art now, remember."

"I'll call him whatever I bloody well like, I'm his father," Ron grumbled.

"This is such a small thing. Don't antagonize him, please."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Fine. I sent him an owl and told him to meet me here."

As if on cue, there was a knock at the door. Hermione couldn't help but smile at the two boys coming into the room. Art with his curly red hair was now almost as tall as his father while Clive, Harry and Ginny's son, though several months older only came up to Art's shoulder.

"Ready boys?" Ron asked.

Both boys nodded and took handfuls of Floo powder from the jar on the mantel.

Ron stood in the fire first, followed by Clive. When it was Art's turn, he smiled at Hermione. "See you later, Mum."

Hermione's heart soared as she watched him disappear in the green flame. "I'm pathetic," she muttered to herself as she sat down to grade papers for a while.

Several hours later, Hermione was sitting in her own kitchen, sipping oolong tea and finishing up the last of the papers she needed to grade. She heard someone come in through the Floo.

"Master Artie," she heard Winky say. _Now why is it okay for Winky to continue calling him Artie?_ she wondered.

Art came into the kitchen and she could see he was in a foul mood. _So like his father at this age_, Hermione thought.

"Where's your dad?" she asked.

Art flopped down in the chair opposite her and scowled. "He had to go back to the shop."

"Would you like some tea? You look like you've had a rough day."

"No, I don't want any bloody tea."

"Language, Arthur," Hermione said, frustrated with his bad humor. "What's gotten into you? Was the house so awful?"

"No, the house wasn't awful. You want to know what was awful?" He reached into his pocked and tossed a handful of what looked like tiny tiles across the table. "Finding these was awful."

Hermione looked at the little things on the table. "I don't –"

Art pulled out his wand and said, "Engorgio."

The little tiles swelled in size until they were full size magazines, all of which featured Hermione and Viktor Krum on the cover."

Hermione gasped.

"You lied to me," Art said.

Hermione shook her head. "No, I –"

"You did," he shouted. "You said you and Dad were together since you were kids. You said you always loved him. But these tell a different story. They say you lived with Uncle Viktor. They say you left Dad because he didn't have any money and you wanted to be with someone famous. They said you dated Uncle Viktor in school when he was at Hogwarts for the Tri-wizard Tournament. They say as soon as he came back to England you dropped Dad even though he was a war hero. They say you only left Uncle Viktor when Dad made a fortune selling televisions. Some of the people who wrote in called you a filthy mud-blood slag."


	2. Of Mothers and Lovers

Of Mothers and Lovers

Blood was roaring in Hermione's ears.

"Don't," she glared at him, "believe everything you read."

Art folded his arms across his chest. "So you didn't live with Uncle Viktor?"

Hermione sighed and pressed her fingertips against her temples. "I did, but it wasn't like the magazine said. Rita –"

"Did you date him at Hogwarts?"

"We went out on one date, to the Yule Ball, it wasn't –"

"Why didn't you go with Dad?"

"He didn't ask me." For the millionth time, Hermione could have killed Ron for not asking her to that stupid ball.

"So what's not true?"

"What?" Hermione asked.

"What part of this is lies? It seems to me everything they've said is true."

Hermione stood so abruptly the chair behind her clattered to the ground. Winky appeared at the door to the kitchen trembling behind her tea towel. "It doesn't even occur to you that there may be another side to the story, that there might have been extenuating circumstances that you don't understand?"

Art thrust out his jaw and glared at her.

"I see that it doesn't." She wasn't even aware of casting the spell that sent the magazines shooting into the air and shredding into a thousand pieces, which rained down over Art like confetti. Hermione left the room in rush of air.

When Ron stepped into the kitchen a moment later, Winky was sobbing and occasional pieces of magazine were still drifting down over Art, whose eyes had grown huge.

"What the hell?" Before Ron could demand an explanation he saw a glass and a bottle of fire whiskey shoot toward the garden. He glared at his son. "You go to your room!" he shouted, "I'll deal with you later."

When Ron stepped out the back door into the yard he was astounded by the transformation. Their tidy little urban garden had been transformed into a thick impenetrable jungle. He had to pull out his wand and cast slashing spells to get through it. "Damn it, Hermione," he muttered as he pushed through the heavy vegetation.

When he finally made it to the center of the garden he found her on the stone bench under a trellis of roses. She had her face on her knees, which were pulled up to her chest. She had one arm outstretched with half a glass of fire whiskey in her hand. The bottle was in front of her on the bench.

"Bad day?" Ron asked.

Hermione looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes. "You could say that." She took a sip of whiskey and moved her feet so Ron could sit down.

He leaned over and kissed her forehead. "I like what you've done with the garden, but it does block the downstairs windows."

Hermione looked up as if noticing the changes in the garden for the first time. "Sorry," she said. "I obviously shouldn't cast herbivicious when I'm upset."

Ron nodded, looking around at the towering jungle of vegetation. "Yeah, probably not." He took the glass of whiskey from her and took a sip. "You want to tell me what happened in there?"

"Your son thinks his mother is a filthy, mud-blood, slag."

"He said that to you?" Ron asked, shocked.

"He was quoting an editorial he read in **Witch Weekly**."

"Why would –"

"He found it cleaning house today. He found all of them actually. All the ones from when I was with Viktor."

Ron clamped a hand over his eyes. "Oh, bloody hell!"

Hermione took the whiskey glass back from him and finished the contents. "He thinks I've lied to him, and I suppose I have."

"Come one, Hermione, no one's lied to him. We've just left out complicated bits of our lives. What should we have done? Sat him down when he was seven and told him every detail of life before he was born? What business is it of his that you once lived with Viktor?"

"Ron, he's thirteen. I'm his mother. I'm supposed to be solid and boring. It's bad enough I teach at Hogwarts, but to find out something like this. He feels betrayed Ron."

"No one's betrayed him," Ron insisted. "It's none of his bloody business."

Hermione's shoulders slumped and she poured herself another glass of whiskey. "We're his parents, of course, he thinks it's his business."

"Well, it isn't," Ron grumbled.

"Maybe it wasn't, but it is now. He deserves an explanation."

"Hermione, he's only thirteen."

She laughed softly and sipped her drink. "Have you forgotten everything we'd seen and done by the time we were his age?"

"That was a different."

"Maybe but he needs an explanation. He can't hear anything I say to him right now. You're going to have to talk to him."

"Bloody hell," Ron grumbled and took the glass of whiskey back. He drank down its contents and handed it back to her. "Fine, I'll go talk to him."

He turned to fight his way back to the house when Hermione stopped him. "Ron."

He looked at her.

"Be gentle, this isn't his fault."

Ron frowned at her. "It isn't anyone's fault. It's just life. It happens."

As Hermione watched Ron cut a swath back to the house, she realized she should probably do something about the garden before the Muggle neighbors noticed. She stood up with just a little difficulty and cast the necessary incantations to return the garden to its normal state. She picked up the bottle of whiskey and walked back to the house. For the first time in a long time, she allowed herself to consider what brought her and Viktor together in the first place. She was ashamed to admit, even to herself, just how easy it had been.

It was snowing, Christmas Eve, when she left the Ministry library. Even though she had finished her exams for becoming an Unspeakable, she continued to go to the library every day. She found it comforting to be surrounded by the books, to busy herself with learning. Besides it was a place to go when she got up in the morning. She was at loose ends now that the exams were over and she was just waiting to hear whether she made it or not. Unfortunately, she'd been warned that it would likely take a month or more before they notified her. Since Ron had stated over a week ago, in no uncertain terms, that he was done with her, she'd had nothing to do but rattle around in her parents' empty house for hours on end.

Yesterday, she'd broken down and pathetically sent him a Christmas card by owl post, but hadn't as yet received one in return. Actually, she'd only gotten two - one from Harry, in which he wished her a Happy Christmas and then implored her to sort out this business with Ron, and one from Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, which just said Happy Christmas and nothing more.

She decided to cut through Diagon Alley. As she walked, she felt light headed. She realized she'd skipped breakfast and also lunch, but unfortunately, the shops were all closed for Christmas Eve. Her stomach growled as she stepped from the alley behind a dusty teashop into Muggle London. It was only a couple of blocks to walk to her parents' townhouse, but she didn't really have any food there, so she decided to stop into a Muggle market that was still open on the corner before heading home.

She'd managed to put a bottle of milk and a box of Weetabix into her basket when someone bumped into her. She turned around and was astounded to see Viktor Krum scowling back at her. The scowl disappeared and was replaced by recognition.

"Hermione?"

"Viktor?"

They hugged each other.

"What are you doing in London?" Hermione asked.

Viktor smiled. "I'm trying out for Puddlemere United."

Hermione looked at him, surprised that he would leave Bulgaria. "What? I thought you played for the Vrasta Vultures when you weren't playing for the Bulgarian National team."

Viktor cleared his throat. "I was. I just needed a change. I can still play for the national team if they want me."

Hermione thought it odd that there would be a question as to whether they'd want him, but she didn't follow Quidditch very closely, so she was reticent to say anything else about it. "So are you staying around here?"

Viktor sighed. "No. I'm supposed to be staying in Diagon Alley, but the Portkey that was supposed to take me directly to the hotel dropped me behind some Muggle jewelry store instead. I've been walking around for two hours trying to find an entrance into Diagon Alley. I just came in here to get something to eat."

Hermione grimaced. "I'm so sorry. You should report the Portkey - that kind of malfunction is really serious. Who made it?"

Viktor shrugged and his scowl returned.

"Well," said Hermione, "the good news is Diagon Alley is only about a block from here. I can take you."

Viktor looked visibly relieved.

Hermione looked down at the pitiful contents of her basket. "Actually, would you like to get dinner first?"

Viktor smiled at her warmly. "I would like that." He raised his eyebrows. "But, it's Christmas Eve, and I don't think we're likely to find many places open, unless you want to go to a Muggle restaurant or eat at the hotel perhaps."

Hermione thought he was probably right. "You know what?" she said. "Why don't I make us dinner? I don't live far from here and then you don't have to eat hotel food on Christmas Eve."

Viktor nodded his head. "That sounds good, but you're sure you don't mind?"

"Not at all," Hermione smiled. Her evening suddenly didn't seem as bleak. "Do you have any particular favorites?"

Laden with thick steaks, parsnips and Brussels sprouts, she and Viktor walked through the snow to her townhouse. They stopped for Viktor to pick up his luggage, which he'd transfigured to look like cardboard boxes in front of the market.

Dinner had been a joint effort. Viktor knew a good grilling spell and Hermione handled the vegetables. Sated and having started on their second bottle of wine, they'd stayed at the dinner table talking until well into the night. When Viktor finally realized the time, he got up to leave. Hermione rested a hand on his forearm.

"Viktor, it's after midnight. This house has five bedrooms. Why don't you stay? I can take you to Diagon Alley tomorrow."

He paused, looking intently at her. "You don't mind?"

She smiled. "I wouldn't have asked if I did."

She got him settled into one of the second floor bedrooms and then went upstairs to her own room. Only she wasn't able to sleep. After two hours of tossing and turning she gave up and went back downstairs. She conjured a fire in the parlor fireplace and poured herself a glass of brandy and sat sipping it on the Oriental carpet in front of the fire. She'd been sitting there for some time when she heard Viktor come down the stairs. She heard him go into the kitchen and then a minute later he came into the parlor with a glass of water in his hand.

"Hermione?"

She looked up at him. "I couldn't sleep."

He sighed. He was barefoot and shirtless in flannel pajama bottoms. He sat cross-legged on the rug next to her. "Me either."

"Well, happy Christmas," she said, and leaned over and kissed his cheek.

"Happy Christmas," he repeated, but instead of kissing her cheek, he kissed her warmly on the mouth.

She hadn't expected it and was surprised by how easy it was to open her mouth to him, to let him touch her breasts, to let him inside her. It felt good, and that surprised her too. She remembered lying there on the rug with Viktor curled next to her with her robe pulled over both of them like a blanket and thinking how she had never considered that she could have satisfying sex without love.

She awoke the next morning to the sounds and smells of breakfast, and when she'd stepped into the kitchen, he'd smiled at her, and it hadn't been as awkward as she'd expected. They ate, he suggested sledding, so they went. Again she was surprised, because she had a good time. Afterward they'd come home to more wine and more sex. That made it sound harsher than it was but she never thought of sex with Viktor as making love. She didn't love Viktor, although she was very fond of him. She was pretty sure the feeling was mutual since during the three years they were together, although they had discussed marriage, neither of them had ever said the word love in relation to the other. She had assumed, at the time, that it was a one-night stand. She'd taken him to Diagon Alley late in the afternoon so he could be well rested for his upcoming week of Quidditch tryouts. She never expected to hear from him again.

But she had heard from him, with owls coming almost daily, once with flowers. At the end of the week he'd shown up at her door, triumphant with making the team and with a request. His best friend, Todor, and some of his friends had rented a house for a month in Amsterdam. They had an extra room and Quidditch practice didn't start for six weeks. Did she want to go? She'd said yes and almost lost everything as a result and bound herself to Viktor for the next three years and oh how that had cost her and cost her and cost her.

Hermione walked up the stairs to her bedroom and headed for the big claw-footed tub in the bathroom. Whiskey and baths were what she turned to for pain relief and Artie saying "filthy, mud-blood slag" was more pain than she'd had in a very long time.


	3. Of Fathers and Sons

Of Fathers and Sons

Ron trudged up the stairs to Art's third floor bedroom, which had been Hermione's when she was a little girl. He dreaded the conversation before him.

Art was pacing around his room dodging books that were flying through the air.

"What are you doing?" Ron asked when he stepped into the room.

"Alphabetizing my books." Art glowered at him. "I have to go back to school."

"No, what you have to do is sit down. And stop these bloody books flying about." _So like his mother_, Ron thought.

Art waved his wand and the unshelved books dropped to the floor. He sat on the edge of his bed.

Ron pulled the desk chair over and sat facing his son. "So, you've put your mother in a right state."

"She lied to me," Art shouted.

"Don't you shout at me," Ron growled. "And no one lied to you."

"She –" Artie sputtered.

"Did nothing of the sort," Ron finished for him.

"But –"

"She did nothing of the sort!" Ron shouted.

Art looked away from him.

"Look, son," Ron continued, reminding himself to remain calm. "We had lives before we were your parents."

"I know that," Art grumbled.

"Well, I don't think you do, or you wouldn't have thrown such a fit about this."

"I didn't throw a fit."

Ron raised his eyebrows.

"Mum was the one who tore up the magazines," Art insisted.

Ron cleared his throat. He wasn't expecting that. Then he reconsidered. "Can you blame her?" he asked.

Art sighed and his shoulders slumped. "I thought you two were always together. I thought you always loved each other."

"Well," Ron said, pausing, "we were, for the most part, always together. And we always loved each other even when we were apart."

"How could she love you and live with Uncle Viktor? Was she just living with him for the money?"

"Well first off, he wasn't your uncle when she was living with him, so don't say it like that. And secondly, your mother has never been interested in anyone's money."

"Was it because he was famous?"

Ron couldn't help but chuckle. "No, son. It was not because he was famous. She hated that. She hated being on all those magazine covers. She hated her picture in the paper."

"Then why?"

Ron sighed. "Because, after the war, things just went sour between us. For a bit anyway."

"A bit?" Art look incredulous. "According to those magazines, they were together for three years."

"Well, out of all the years your Mum and me have been together, son, three years is just a bit of a bad patch." Ron smiled.

"It's not funny," Art grumbled.

"No, I suppose it's not," Ron admitted. "It certainly wasn't at the time, but I tell you what, in some ways, your Mum leaving was the best thing that could have happened to me."

Art's jaw dropped. "How can you say that?"

"Because, it woke me up. While she was with me, I was just puttering along relying on her like I'd done all through school. Expecting her to fix my mistakes and take care of things. And all the while, I was such a prig to her. But when she finally left. When I finally chased her away, it was like a splash of cold water in my face. I knew I had to get on with my life. Leave the war behind me and start fresh. I had to concentrate on building something on my own without her. It was the hardest three years of my life, but I can't say I'd trade them."

"So why did you take her back then?" Art asked, clearly shocked by his father's admission.

"Are you mad? The day Hermione walked back into my life the sun came back."

Art picked at the cover on his bed. "Come on, Dad."

"What?" Ron said. "Your mother is extraordinary. I was with a lot of women during those three years and I can tell you not one of them could hold a candle to your mother."

"Yeah," Art mocked, "because teaching history at Hogwarts is so extraordinary."

Suddenly angry, Ron pulled his son off the bed by his arm and dragged him to the window. "Look at the garden."

Art looked out the window and his eyes widened.

"What happened?" he whispered.

"You upset your mother."

"What? Mum did that?" Art was clearly shocked.

"Yeah," Ron said, nodding. As they stood there the garden returned to its normal proportions.

"I didn't know she was interested in herbology."

Ron shrugged. "She's interested in everything."

Art looked out at the garden again. "But that isn't casual spell work, Dad."

"I don't know anything magical your mother can't do."

"Then why does she –?"

"She wasn't always a teacher." Ron put his hand on Art's shoulder.

"What was she?" Art asked.

"You'll have to ask her."

Art was indignant. "Why can't you just tell me?"

Ron smiled. "I just can't."

"That's not fair," Art whined.

"No," Ron scowled, "you know what's not fair? It's not fair that your mother had one other relationship besides me and people feel free to write in to a national magazine and call her a filthy, mud-blood, slag. That's not fair. It's not fair that just because Viktor was famous, years after anyone cares, her son finds out about it and has to see pictures of his mother in another man's arms. That's not fair. It's not fair that I was with a dozen women in the same time period but no one seemed to mind that. That's not fair. Then again, that's life in a nutshell, now isn't it. Not fair."

Art walked back to his bed and flopped down. His face crumpled. "But those pictures, Dad. It hardly even looked like Mum. If I hadn't seen her name, I don't think I would've known it was her. He always seemed to have his hands on her. It was, it was…"

Ron could see he was struggling not to cry. He sat next to Art and put his hand on his shoulder. "I know it can be upsetting to see things you aren't expecting, son, but she's still your Mum, Artie. That was a long time ago, another lifetime. It doesn't have anything to do with now."

"I just can't believe Mum would do that," Art whispered.

"Well, you might try and remember that she wasn't your mother back then, son. And she wasn't my wife. That part of her life has nothing to do with us."

"Yeah," Art said as he let himself fall sideways onto his pillow.

"Look," Ron said. "You mean the world to your Mum. We both love you Artie and nothing can change that. No one meant for this to hurt you."

"I have to get back to school." Artie mumbled without looking at him.

"You want me to go with you, explain why you're late?" Ron asked.

Art shook his head. "I'm not that late. I won't get into trouble if I take the Floo right to the common room."

"Alright then." Ron patted his shoulder and stood. "I'm going to go check on your mother."

Art nodded mutely.

Ron hesitated at the door, but he felt like Art had probably had all he could take of this tonight, so he decided to let it be.


	4. A Passive Period

A Passive Period

Hermione sank further into the tub. She sighed as she realized that even taking baths to ease her pain had been Viktor's idea.

He'd been appalled the first time he'd seen her stumble out of the fireplace and sink to her knees from all the magic she'd channeled at work.

"Let me see," he said, as he helped her to her feet.

Hermione shook her head. "No, I'm fine."

"Let me see," he persisted, as he began unbuttoning her robes.

She didn't have the strength to resist him and grimaced when he cursed at the sight of the glowing scars.

"What have they done to you? Were you cursed?" There was a threatening protective edge to his voice.

"Yes," Hermione groaned. "Years ago. Please, I just need a drink and to sit down." She pulled the top of her robes closed and struggled to stand.

Viktor helped her to her feet and over to one of the leather club chairs in the parlor. "I'll draw you a bath, stay here." He pulled his wand and disappeared with a pop. He reappeared a moment later, gathered her in his arms and Apparated both of them to the upstairs bathroom. The tub was full of hot water and bubbles. He cast Deliquesco and she was suddenly naked in his arms. He settled her slowly into the hot water, then summoned whiskey and a glass from downstairs and poured her a healthy measure.

"How often does this happen?" he asked as he handed her the drink.

Hermione took a sip before she answered. "Not that often. Mostly I do research. Practical magic is only a small percentage of what I do."

Viktor seemed to consider that. "Well, I don't like it. You should find a different job."

Hermione took another swallow of whiskey and didn't say anything. The whole time they were together, Viktor tried to get her to leave the Department of Mysteries. It was the only thing she ever said no to the entire time they dated.

Looking back on it, Hermione thought of her time with Viktor as a particularly passive period in her life. All of her energy, all of her focus was directed at work. Viktor was gone for long stretches with the team, and when he was gone, Hermione worked extremely long hours. Each Unspeakable had a small bedroom with a tiny bath in the Department of Mysteries. When Viktor was traveling, Hermione slept at work more often than not. Within the Ministry, Unspeakables had a reputation for working long hours with obsessive focus on their projects and Hermione was no exception. They also had a reputation for a certain wildness outside of work, and Hermione was no exception there either, except that her wild side was rather well recorded by the press. Rita hunted her and Viktor relentlessly. They had to go out of the country to go out in public without a slew of photographers snapping their picture. Even then, Hermione had to make the Portkeys herself, so there would be no record of their leaving or their destination.

The constant attention whenever she was out with Viktor grated on her nerves, so she started altering her appearance whenever they went out. She straightened her hair and wore it up. She dressed sexier, and she adopted a public persona that was carefree and flippant. That way when she passed a newsstand and saw a magazine with her and Viktor on the cover, it seemed like another woman altogether. In her mind, she called that woman Jane.

For the most part, Jane's life and Hermione's life were completely separate. The only thing that connected them was Viktor. He got Jane in public and Hermione in private. If that bothered him or excited him, he never said. So Hermione continued to keep the two worlds separate. There were a couple of times when they collided briefly, but for the most part it was a smooth transition.

The Ministry ignored her notoriety. After all she'd been famous already when they hired her. As best friend to the boy who lived and instrumental in the downfall of Voldemort, Hermione had been famous in her own right long before her relationship with Viktor. While she did get the occasional glare in the hallway from someone outside the Department of Mysteries, she was well respected among the Unspeakables. There was an unspoken understanding among them that what they did at work was important and dangerous. None of the Unspeakables cared who she was sleeping with as long as she was fully focused on the magic when they needed her to be and she always was.

Hermione tucked her hair tighter into the bun she'd put it in to keep it out of the water and considered her fate. She thought it would have been easier if she could have blamed what happened in Amsterdam on Jane. Sadly, she hadn't created the Jane persona yet, so all that week's debauchery rested squarely on her own shoulders. When she thought about it, she was rather amazed that Viktor stayed with her. She spent the week they got back from Amsterdam alternating between vomiting and sobbing. Viktor held her hair back and wiped her face and assured her she would get through it.

When the owl arrived with the letter from the Department of Mysteries informing her that she had been accepted as an Unspeakable, Viktor was there. He'd soothed her panic and assured her she was ready, that she could do it. Of course, he'd changed his tune when he realized the toll it took, but in the beginning, when she'd needed it the most, he'd been supportive.

She sighed and thought about Artie. How could she explain to someone so young and inexperienced that, at the time, being with Viktor had been a good thing? How was he ever going to understand how profoundly damaged she and Ron were after the war? Would it make sense to him that they needed time apart to heal and to grow in ways they couldn't when they were together? Would he ever understand how painful and necessary the whole process had been? She thought not. She just hoped he could forgive her.

In the back of her mind, a nasty little voice told her she deserved this.


	5. A Little Research

A Little Research

Ron was relieved to see the garden back to normal but Hermione wasn't in it. He found the empty bottle of whiskey on the bottom of the stairs. He walked slowly up them, picking up her shoes as he went. When he got to their bedroom the door was closed. He knocked softly before entering. He wasn't surprised when she didn't answer. The rest of her clothes were on the floor and the door to the bathroom was ajar with steam drifting into the bedroom.

When Ron stepped into the bathroom Hermione was neck deep in a tub full of bubbles. Her eyes were closed but one hand still held a glass full a whiskey. Ron took the glass and poured the contents down the sink. "I think you've had enough, luv."

Hermione opened one eye and looked at him. "My son hates me."

Ron pulled his shirt off. "No, he doesn't." He toed off his shoes and dropped his trousers and underwear. "Shove over."

Hermione moved forward and Ron slipped in behind her. She leaned back against his chest. "This has been an awful day."

Ron moved her hair to the side and began pushing his thumbs into the muscles in her neck. "We've had better."

"I should talk to him." Hermione started to stand.

Ron slid his arm around her waist, "Hold on there, I don't think Artie could handle a drunken rant from his mother on top of the day he's already had."

Hermione twisted around indignantly, "I do not rant and I am not drunk."

Ron laughed and settled her back against him. "You do so rant and you're definitely drunk. You know how I know?"

Hermione leaned back and looked up at his chin. "I…how?"

"Whenever you stop using contractions, I know you're drunk. It's like you speak more carefully in an attempt to show you're not slurring."

"I am not slurring."

"Of course, not. You're speaking too slowly and carefully to slur, but this doesn't help when people can smell the whiskey on you from across the room."

Hermione dropped her head back against his chest. "He hates me."

"He doesn't hate you."

"Where is he?"

"He's gone back to school. You'll see him tomorrow. Maybe you can talk to him after class."

Hermione groaned and slipped further under the water. "He hates that I work there."

"No, he doesn't," Ron assured her.

"He does. He won't even look at me in school."

"Hermione," Ron said softly, "he's thirteen. His whole life revolves around embarrassment and how to avoid it. Merely having a mother when you're thirteen is embarrassing. You can't go by that. Deep down, he's probably glad you're there."

"Well even if that was true before, I'm sure it isn't now. This is all Rita's fault. She better hope I never see her again," Hermione growled.

"I'm reasonably certain she left the country after your last encounter." Ron said, trying not to laugh. He wrapped his arms around Hermione and whispered in her ear, "This will pass, we've been through worse. Give the boy some credit. He's far cleverer than I was at his age. He'll come around. Sooner rather than later, I should think."

Hermione pressed her face against his chest. "I hope you're right."

Art stood in the fireplace with the Floo powder in his hand. He was about to say Gryffindor Tower, when he changed his mind. "Potter's Glenn."

Harry was drinking a cup of tea by the fire when the Floo activated. Harry's wand was in his hand and pointed at the fire before he even thought about it.

"Uncle Harry," Artie squeaked, clearly alarmed to have his uncle's wand point in his direction.

"Artie?" Harry tucked his wand back into the pocket of his robe. "You scared me half to death. Why aren't you at school?"

"I needed to talk to you."

Harry leaned forward to stand. "Is something wrong?"

Artie held out a hand to stop him. "No, no. I mean, yes. It's just, well, Mum slept with Uncle Viktor."

Harry's mouth dropped open. "What? I can't believe that. She loves your dad, and Viktor and Gabrielle are very happy."

"It's true. It happened before Mum and Dad got married, but –"

"Oh," Harry sighed and sat back in the chair, "that. Well, yes, but that was ages ago."

"Well, I just found out today. There were these horrible magazines at Mrs. Figg's place."

Harry looked at the dejected boy over his glasses and smiled. "Dobby?"

The elf appeared instantly at Harry's side. "Could you get Artie a cup of tea?"

Dobby snapped his fingers and a steaming cup of Darjeeling appeared in his hand.

Harry gestured toward the other chair facing the fire. "Have a seat, Artie."

Artie sat down and gratefully accepted the tea from Dobby, who disappeared back to wherever he'd been.

Harry sipped his own tea for a moment. "So what can I do for you, Artie?"

"I just. I don't understand how they could be together, go through a war together and then suddenly she leaves and starts dating Uncle Viktor."

Harry cleared his throat and set down his tea. "Okay, first off, he was not your uncle at the time."

Art sighed in frustration. "I know that, I'm just used to calling him Uncle Viktor. I just, I'm just trying to understand what happened."

"Maybe you should be talking to your parents about this."

"I talked to Dad. He said it was his fault. He said he was a prig and chased her off. But, even if that's true, why would he do that after everything they'd been through."

Harry took his glasses off and wiped the lenses on his robe. "How much have they told you about the war?"

Artie shrugged. "I don't know, not much really, just that it was long and hard but that you all got through it, nothing specific. When I ask, they change the subject. Mum especially won't talk about it. I read a book about the war once, but it mostly was just a list of events, not a personal account."

Harry nodded. "Suffice it to say that war changes you. You find yourself doing things you never even imagined you could do, some good, some indescribably bad. But the thing nobody tells you is, that the hardest part happens after it's over, when you're supposed to resume your normal life. The problem we had was, we were so young when the whole things started, that we didn't really have a life to return to. We sort of had to make one up as we went along, which wasn't easy because our heads were so messed up from the things we'd seen and done."

"But you and Aunt Ginny got through it."

Harry nodded and pulled at his lower lip. "True, but not unscathed. It was hard for us too, but ours was never the contentious relationship of your parents."

"Come on, Mum and Dad don't quarrel."

Harry laughed. "Maybe not so much now, but there was a time, my boy, when quarreling defined their relationship."

"So you're saying they fought after the war and so she left."

Harry sighed. "Quite the opposite actually. I think after the war, Hermione just didn't have any fight left in her for a very long time."

Art shook his head, "but if they weren't fighting –"

"It changed the dynamic of their relationship, Artie. Ron and Hermione thrived on their differences, after the war they just…failed to thrive."

"But she could thrive with Uncle Viktor?"

"Thrive is probably a strong word there." Harry said and sipped his tea.

"So she didn't love him?" Artie asked.

"The problem with love," Harry said, "is that it's a small word that describes too many different kinds of feelings. Viktor and Hermione loved each other after a fashion. I think they offered each other a safe harbor, so to speak."

"But they were together for three years, they lived together," Artie protested.

Harry sighed. "Artie, when you're older, when you've had a few relationships of your own, you'll understand that three years isn't really that long and that not all relationships have the same impact on your life."

Artie sipped his tea and seemed to consider what his uncle had said.

Harry cleared his throat and considered his next words carefully. "You know, your mother has suffered a great deal over those three years with Viktor. The publicity was really hard on her and the public reaction was even harder. I'm ashamed to say Ginny and I didn't help much. She walked out on Ron and we let her leave us too. I saw her occasionally during that time, but not much, not as much as I should have."

Artie didn't say anything.

"I'm just saying, Artie, that I know you must be upset finding out the way you did, but don't be too hard on your mum. She's had quite enough scorn over this, she doesn't deserve yours as well."

Artie set his tea down. "Yeah, well, I reckon I should be getting back to school."

"Straight to Gryffindor Tower then. You're well past curfew already."

Harry watched as his nephew disappeared in the green flame of the Floo network. He thought, not for the first time, that he and Ginny were very lucky to have come through the war as well as they did. He sat watching the fire for a long time after Artie had gone. His mind returned to those three years that Hermione had lived with Viktor. He recalled a day he'd been in London on an errand and had gone to see her. It was early afternoon and it had been about a year since she and Ron had broken it off and Harry hadn't seen a lot of her. He found the big old townhouse that she had inherited from her parents on a tree-lined street in the west end of London. Viktor had answered the door. Clearly he was just out of the shower, his hair was still wet and he was wearing his practice uniform.

"Harry," he'd said with some surprise upon opening the door.

"Hullo, Viktor," Harry said, shaking hands.

"Come in," Viktor said, then shouted over his shoulder, "Hermione!" He turned back to Harry and smiled. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

"Sure," Harry said, and followed Viktor past stacks of boxes and into the kitchen, which was a bit of mess.

"Sorry about the state of things," Viktor said, tapping a teapot with his wand and saying a heating charm. "Bit of a rough week." He set a cup of tea in front of Harry and stepped back out into the hallway and bellowed, "Hermione!" He smiled apologetically at Harry, "Sorry, she's only just up. A bit of a –"

"Rough week," Harry finished for him. "So you said."

Viktor cleared his throat, "Yes. Well, I hate to rush off, but I've got practice and we get fined if we're late."

Harry nodded, "I understand."

Viktor pulled out his wand and disappeared with a pop.

Harry sipped his tea and a few moments later he could hear someone coming down the stairs.

Hermione came into the kitchen and Harry was shocked. Had Viktor not called her name, he might not have recognized her at all. She looked as though she'd lost twenty pounds, her eyes were puffy, her hair hung straight and limp, and her face was a bit gray. She was wearing a sexy black silk nightgown that showed a lot of cleavage and had a hemline that fell mid-thigh. One hand was pressed tight against her side and the other held her wand. She was talking as she entered the room.

"If you don't stop shouting, I will hex you into next week." As she caught sight of Harry her eyes widened and if possible she got even paler. She stepped back into the hall and Harry could here her say, "Accio, dressing gown."

A moment later she came back into the kitchen knotting the sash of a black silk robe around her waist. "Harry," she said, smiling. "What an unexpected surprise."

"I'm sorry," Harry said, standing to hug her. "I should have sent an owl, but I was in London, and thought I'd stop by." As he hugged her, he was assailed with the smell of whisky, sex and cigarettes.

He must have made a face, because Hermione's cheeks went pink and she said, "If you could give me a moment to freshen up and get dressed, we can have a spot of breakfast and a nice chat."

"I don't want to trouble you," Harry said, glancing around at the state of the kitchen.

Hermione's laugh sounded forced. "Don't be silly, I'll only be a moment." She cast a cleaning spell on the kitchen and seemed to press her hand even tighter into her side as she went back upstairs.

Harry watched as the dishes cleaned themselves and put themselves away. Food found it's way either back into cabinets or into the dustbin and a rag began wiping down the counters. As the dustbin was taking itself outside, Hermione reappeared. Harry was relieved to see her looking more like herself, in slacks and a jumper. Her hair was clean and curly again and her face had lost its previous pallor.

"How do you feel about a fry up, Muggle style?" Hermione asked as she pulled eggs and bacon from the icebox.

Harry shrugged. "Sounds good, let me help."

Hermione smiled and handed him a frying pan. They worked side by side. She made the eggs and toast while he fried the bacon. "I'm famished," she said as they sat down to eat.

"You look thin, too thin." Harry said as he cut into his egg.

Hermione shrugged, "I have lost a bit of weight I suppose. I've been really busy at work."

"And at play, it seems. You and Viktor make regular appearances on the cover of **Witch Weekly** and the society column of the **Prophet**.

Hermione grimaced. "It's constant, I know. Vultures. Especially Rita."

Harry nodded and then remembered the boxes in the foyer. "It looks like you're packing."

Hermione glanced down at her plate and didn't look back up at him. "I'm moving in with Viktor."

Harry set his fork down. "You're what?"

She sighed. "This place is too big for two people. His flat is closer to the Ministry and the Stadium. We spend most of our time there anyway. It seems silly to keep going back and forth."

"But Hermione," Harry said.

She looked up at him, but he didn't know what else to say. She shook her head. "It's not like I'm selling this place. It's just more convenient to live with Viktor."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "More convenient?"

Hermione sighed. "You know what I mean."

Harry frowned. "I don't think I do."

"Viktor is a good person, Harry."

"Are you listening to yourself?" Harry asked. "'He's a good person' is something you say about a coworker, not someone you're planning on moving in with."

Hermione looked at him. "What do you want from me, Harry?"

"Tell me that you love him, tell me that you're happy. Tell me that this is about more than just getting back at Ron." He'd clearly crossed a line with the last part. Hermione looked murderous.

"This has nothing to do with Ron," she hissed. "You of all people should know me better than that."

"I thought I did," Harry said, "but when you first walked down those stairs, I barely recognized you. What's going on? What are you doing?"

Hermione shook her head. "Nothing. I'm just living. I take things as they come now. I don't let myself get wound up like I used to. Viktor understands that."

"And you're saying Ron doesn't?" Harry asked.

"I'm saying," Hermione said sighing again, "that this doesn't have anything to do with Ron. Viktor and I are in the same place right now. We work. I'm sorry if that isn't the relationship picture you want me to paint, but I think I've outgrown my rainbows and butterflies phase. Right now I'm just happy to be with someone who appreciates me and doesn't expect me to be something I'm not."

"I see," Harry said, but he hadn't.

As he looked at the embers slowly dying in the grate, he marveled that Hermione and Ron had ever found their way back to each other.

Art arrived in the Gryffindor fireplace to an empty common room. He made his way up to his dorm, cast a cleaning charm on his teeth, changed into his pajamas and got into bed, but he couldn't sleep. He lay there for half an hour before he gave up and pulled on his dressing gown and went back down to the common room. He'd never snuck out of the tower after curfew before, but he wanted to go to the library. From early childhood, his mother's library was a place to solve problems. He'd been raised to look for answers with research. The library at Hogwarts was one of his favorite places at school, although he was careful to keep that little fact secret from his mates. It never occurred to him to look up his parents in the library before now. He knew there was a short cut down a narrow set of stairs behind the portrait of a little girl holding a frog. The passage would take him just down the hall from the library. With a little luck he could be there and back without being seen. He pushed his way out of the portrait hole and walked down the hall toward the painting of the little girl, carefully keeping to the shadows. He found the passage he wanted and raced down the stairs. When he made it to the library door, he slipped inside, pulled out his wand and said, "Lumos." The glow from the end of his wand gave him enough light to find the reference section and the two huge tomes called Who's Who Among Witches and Wizards. The first and largest volume was labeled Dead, and the second slimmer volume was labeled Living. Art pulled down the Living book and took it over to a corner table not visible from the door.

The book was full of endless lists of tightly packed names. As he flipped it open, he noticed the name of his favorite Quiddich player, Digby Ghent. He tapped Ghent's name with his wand and was delighted when a half a page about the player crowded out the other names on the page. Encouraged, Art opened to the W section and found Weasley, Hermione Jane Granger. He tapped her name with his wand and the entry expanded and pushed all the other names off the page until there was a full two-page spread including a picture. He read. The article was very thorough and he was surprised to find that it went on for several pages. There was a great deal listed about her accomplishments while working with the Ministry of Magic, although it didn't say which department she worked for. Judging from the list it seemed like she worked in several different departments over the years. There were also two pages about her work during the war. He was surprised to find a short list of dark wizards she was known to have killed in battle along with a list of injuries she had suffered, both lists were annotated with chilling descriptions. He also found out she held the record for holding a wandless shield charm. Apparently, toward the end of the war, while seriously wounded, she'd held a shield charm over herself, his dad and Uncle Harry for over six minutes until Aurors could arrive and rescue them.

Art sat back in his chair. He'd seen her do that trick many times with Uncle Harry at demonstrations for the Dueling Club. She'd never held it more than a minute and it seemed to take a lot out of her to do it. He marveled that she'd ever been able to hold it so long, especially when wounded. "Shit," he hissed. He finished the article on his mother, which wrapped up with her marriage, his birth and her taking the history position at Hogwarts three years ago. He was interested to see that she'd held the same position for a few months before he was born. Apparently, she took over from someone named Binns. He tapped his mother's name again, and it shrank back into the list. He was about to tap his dad's name when the library clock startled him by striking 2am. He felt like he'd pushed his luck enough. He'd read his dad's entry later in the week. Art returned the heavy book to its shelf and made his way back to Gryffindor Tower. He lay in bed for a long time thinking about the article and what he was going say to his mother tomorrow.


	6. Everything Costs

Everything Costs

Hermione took another swallow of hangover potion and shifted her bag on to her shoulder.

Ron came into the kitchen. "You leaving?"

She finished the last of the potion. "Yes."

"Is that working?"

"Not as fast as I'd like it to be." She put a hand to her forehead and moaned.

Ron smiled in sympathy. "Come on, I'll walk out with you."

They walked out into the narrow alley beside the house and stood behind the garbage bins.

Ron took his wand out and kissed her forehead. "Try and have a good day."

Hermione smiled weakly. "You too."

He disappeared with a pop.

Hermione pulled out her own wand and a few minutes later she appeared outside the main gate of Hogwarts. She tapped her wand on the small door beside the giant gate and it opened for her. She stepped inside to a beautiful autumn day. The air was crisp and the potion was starting to take effect. Perhaps the day wouldn't be too bad after all.

She was barely settled at her desk when there was a knock at the door. "Come in," she called as she rooted around in her desk drawer for a quill.

"Hermione?"

She looked up to see Harry closing the door behind him.

"Hullo Harry."

"Hullo." He moved a large stack of books from the chair in front of her desk and set them on the floor so he could sit down.

"Sorry about that," Hermione winced. "I'm working on a paper."

Harry nodded. "Look, I debated whether or not to mention this, but Art showed up at the house last night."

Hermione abandoned her search for a quill and shut her desk drawer. "Oh."

Harry cleared his throat. "Yeah, he was pretty upset. He found some magazines from when you were with Viktor."

Hermione's shoulders sagged. "I know. He confronted me about it yesterday. I'd like to say I handled it well, but I didn't. What did he want from you?"

"An explanation of why you and Ron broke up."

"What did you tell him?" Hermione pressed her fingers against her temples.

"Well, first I told him I thought he ought to be talking to you two, but he said he'd talked to Ron and Ron had said it was his fault, that he'd made you leave."

Hermione blew out a frustrated sigh. "Why would he tell him that? It's not true."

Harry looked up at her. "It's not? Ron told me he told you to leave."

She shrugged her shoulders. "He did, but anyone would have. I was beastly."

Harry cocked his head. "You were beastly?"

She nodded. "I completely withdrew from him. I spent all my time at the Ministry either studying or testing, and when I was home, I barely spoke to him. I wouldn't ever go out with him. What's the point in having a girlfriend who's never there even when she is? No wonder he hooked up with all those women when I left. I'm just lucky he didn't fall in love with one of them before I got my head on straight."

Harry's eyes were wide.

"What?" She looked at his now sheepish expression. "You didn't think I knew about all those girls? Come on, Harry. He may not have been on the cover of **Witch Weekly,** but he did frequently make the society column. Heavens, I was wearing one of his ex-girlfriend's jumpers the Christmas we got back together."

Harry started to chuckle.

"What?" Hermione asked.

"You two, so stubborn and so stupid."

"Hey," Hermione said, not sure where he was going with the insult.

"You both blame yourselves for the break up and you say almost the exact same things about it. Don't you get it?"

Hermione frowned. "I guess I don't."

"It was Voldemort's fault," Harry said. "All the bad stuff back then was his fault not ours." He let out an exasperated sigh. "I wish one of you had thought to talk to me, if you couldn't talk to each other. How the hell do you think Ginny and I got through it?"

Hermione shook her head. "I don't know. I was always rather impressed that you did."

"Of course we did, because we worked through the pain together without trying to do it on our own. You two were so busy trying to protect each other from your pain you bollocksed the whole thing up."

Hermione sat back in her chair. "There's probably a lot of truth to that." She stared out the window for a moment.

"What?" Harry asked.

Hermione smiled sadly. "I was just thinking about how much it hurt every time I saw Ron's name associated with some other woman."

"Well, it liked to kill him every time he saw a picture of you and Viktor."

She nodded. "I know that now, but at the time, I was convinced he didn't care."

"And yet, you still left Viktor."

"Yeah," Hermione sighed. "I had to."

"How's that?" Harry asked.

"Because his name started to be associated with other women." Hermione adjusted a stack of papers.

"He was cheating on you?" Harry asked, clearly surprised.

Hermione took a deep breath. "I don't know. Maybe, maybe not. I never confronted him."

"That doesn't sound like you."

"I know. I just didn't care enough to confront him. And when I realized I didn't care enough to find out whether or not he was cheating on me, I thought it was time to move on." She smiled. "That I got to move on to Ron was simply the best sort of luck. I'll forever be grateful to Ginny for inviting me to Christmas. I mean really, anything I can do for her ever, she need only ask."

Harry chuckled. "I'm surprised she hasn't given you a list."

Hermione laughed. "Not yet, but she's welcome to." She turned serious again. "So what else did you tell Art?"

Harry took off his glasses and wiped them on his robes. "Well, he didn't understand how if you loved Ron you could live with Viktor."

Hermione closed her eyes. "And you said?"

"That there are different kinds of relationships and different kinds of love, and that I thought you and Viktor were more about mutual support than romance.

Hermione nodded. "Well, that's certainly true." She looked up at Harry. "Anything else I should know?"

"I think that about covers it," Harry said, standing. "I've got to go, I've got a class in a few minutes."

Hermione stood as well. "Thanks, Harry, for talking to him. I'm really glad he felt he could go to you."

Harry nodded. "Anytime."

Hermione watched as the door closed behind him and then gathered her things for her own class. It warmed her heart to know Harry was still looking out for her after all these years.

She'd felt fine all morning but by noon, she'd taught three classes and the potion had worn off. She was drinking a large glass of water hoping it would help her headache. She didn't know the new potions master that well, and she was embarrassed to go to Madam Pomfrey for a hangover. She gently rested her forehead against the stack of papers on her desk and whimpered.

There was a tentative knock on her office door.

"Come in," Hermione said as she lifted her head and arranged herself in a more professional manner.

"Mum?" Art said as he stuck his head into her office.

"Art?"

"Can I come in?" he asked from the door.

"Of course, sit down."

Art took a seat facing her desk. He clasped his hands together and stared at the floor.

Hermione sat back in her chair and sighed.

There was a tap on her office window. She looked up to see an enormous barn owl perched on the ledge. "Excuse me," she said, as she went and opened the window. The owl held his leg out and Hermione removed the small package. She reached for a bowl of owl treats she kept by the window and gave one to the bird. "Thanks," she said.

Back at her desk, she opened the package.

"What is it?" Art asked without looking up.

Hermione looked down at the small bottle of hangover potion and smiled at the note, which read _Thought you might need a bit more of this. R. _"Proof that your father is a god among men," Hermione said as she pulled the cork out and drank down the contents of the vial.

"Yeah," Art said, without looking at her. "Dad's great."

Hermione set aside the vial and looked at her son. He seemed to be struggling with what to say, so she decided to let him off the hook. "I'm sorry," she said.

Art looked up. "What?"

"I'm sorry. I never imagined that you might run across those magazines. It just never occurred to me that anyone might keep trashy tabloids."

"I think Mrs. Figg pretty much kept everything," Art said. "We found hundreds of empty Bertie Botts boxes."

"Well, I'm sorry I didn't think of that possibility. I would have told you myself if I'd thought there was anyway you'd find out on your own."

"Why didn't you just tell me?" Art asked.

"Because it was such a long time ago, Art, there was no reason to ever bring it up."

Art sighed. "I looked you up in Who's Who Among Witches and Wizards."

"Oh?" Hermione felt a sudden chill run through her.

"Yeah." Art shuffled his feet.

"Really? I've never read my entry."

Art looked at her in surprise. "You haven't?"

She shrugged. "Never got around to it. Besides," she smiled, "I know how it ends. So what did it say?"

"I didn't know you worked for the Ministry of Magic."

"That was mostly before you were born. I still consult with them occasionally."

Art nodded, but kept looking at the floor. "Yeah, it said that. It also talked about the war."

Hermione watched him closely. "Oh?" she tried to sound nonchalant.

"There was a list of people you'd killed."

Hermione closed her eyes. She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Art –"

"It wasn't a long list," he said quietly, as though he hadn't heard her, "but I guess I was surprised to see it. I mean, I guess I always thought you did the research and Uncle Harry and Dad did the fighting. None of you really talk about it, so I guess I always kind of imagined that's how it was."

"Oh, Artie," Hermione whispered softly. She could feel a tear slip down her cheek.

"It talked about the wandless shield charm. I always thought that was just a really cool trick. It never occurred to me that you'd ever had to use it for real." His voice cracked. He paused for a moment. "There was also a list of all the times and the ways you were wounded."

She could see his shoulders shaking. She went around the desk and stood by him, resting her hand on his shoulder. "It's alright, Artie," she whispered.

He turned in the chair and wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her chest, "Oh, Mum. I can't--" he sobbed.

Hermione leaned over and rested her head against his, stroking his hair. "It's alright, Artie. It's alright. It was a long time ago." She kissed the top of his head. "I love you so much."

He cried for a moment before pulling away from her and wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his shirt. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Hermione said, brushing the hair off his forehead with her fingers. "You've had a rough couple of days."

Art nodded. "I just never imagined."

Hermione shook her head. "I know. I'm so sorry I never told you. I hate that you found out like this."

He glanced at the mantle clock. "I need to go, I have class in a few minutes."

Hermione smiled. "Want a charm so no one sees you've been crying?"

Art looked at her. "You know one?"

Hermione's smile broadened. "I think I still remember." She slipped the wand from her pocket and pointed it at his face and said an incantation that she'd learned her first year at Hogwarts and that had served her well for many years after.

Art glanced at his reflection in the mirror over the fireplace. "Thanks, Mum."

She nodded. "Anytime, now get to class."

He paused before leaning down and giving her the briefest of kisses on the cheek before he left.

Hermione sat down hard in her desk chair. Art had brought up things she hadn't thought about in a long time. She wondered if she'd have the nightmare tonight. The moment she questioned it, she remembered as vividly as if it had just happened. Lying slumped against a wall, a deep bleeding gash in her side, one leg badly broken, she'd watched as blood dripped off the end of a jagged bone that had splintered through the side of her leg. The drips joined a trail that snaked across the stone floor toward the ever-expanding pool of blood around the Death Eater she'd just killed. She'd used Sectumsempra to slash his throat after he'd cast the spell that broke her leg. Then she lay there, unable to move and watched him as the blood that originally pumped high into the air, raining down on her in the process, went lower and lower until it was just a gurgle. She watched as he took his last breath. She was sure at the time that they would die together, her and this nameless Death Eater. Although apparently he did have a name, and apparently it was listed under hers in Who's Who Among Witches and Wizards.

Hermione opened her eyes and pulled an ungraded parchment toward her. She wanted to push these thoughts from her head, but they resumed unbidden. She could still hear Ron and Harry shouting her name, could still see them racing toward her, several Death Eaters hot on their trail. They'd reached her but couldn't help her as they turned to face the dark wizards. Ron had fallen first, knocked unconscious by a jinx. Harry had his leg broken by the same type of hex that had broken hers and crashed next to her. "Damn it," he'd cursed as he struggled to right himself, "They're coming, Lupin and the others, damn it, just a few more minutes." And so she'd done the charm, the same wandless shield she'd done a hundred times since, although never with the same sense of urgency. She'd held it over all three of them, Harry fired off hexes and jinxes from behind it, while Ron struggled toward consciousness. When the aurors finally fought their way into the room, Ron was awake and helping Harry fight. Hermione dropped the shield and passed out. She woke again screaming in the lobby of St. Mungo's. Ron had Apparated them both. Something he had never done before or since. It was the only thing that saved her. She was on blood replenishing potion for weeks afterward. Hermione looked down to see that her hands were shaking and that the parchment she was supposed to be grading was tear stained. There was a knock at the door. She wiped her face with the heel of her hand. McGonagall stuck her head in, "Hermione, I need you to – Hermione?"

Hermione stood. "I'm not well," she said weakly.

"I should say not. Why don't you have Poppy –?"

"No," Hermione said, "I just need to go home."

"Are you sure?" McGonagall asked, "You're shaking like a leaf."

Hermione stumbled to the hearth and took a fist full of Floo powder. "Yes."

"Alright, well, send an owl if you need someone to take your classes tomorrow."

Hermione shook her head. "I'm sure that won't be necessary." She dropped the powder and asked the Floo to send her home.

Ron was attempting to charm a new piece of Muggle electronics called a video projector, but he wasn't having much success. He heard someone cough and looked up to see Hermione stumble out of the fireplace.

"Hey?" he asked, standing. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she said and went directly to the bar. Her hands were shaking so that she couldn't get the cork out of the bottle of fire whiskey.

Ron took it from her and poured some in a glass.

She took it from him and downed it in one swallow.

"What happened?"

"I talked to Artie," she said, and poured more whiskey, spilling some as she did so.

"What did he say this time?" Ron grumbled.

"Nothing, he was fine, we're fine. He just..." she covered her eyes with her hand and began to weep. "He cried, Ron. He cried and now he knows his mother is not just a slag but a murderer as well." She dropped to her knees. The glass fell from her hand spilling whiskey across the rug.

"What?" Ron said. He knelt beside her.

"He read my entry in Who's Who Among Witches and Wizards. It gave the names of all the people I killed in the war. Can you believe that? I don't even know all their names, but now Artie does," she sobbed and pressed her face against his shoulder.

"Stop," Ron said, feeling his own throat start to tighten. "You're no slag and you're sure as hell no murderer. Those Death Eaters were trying to kill us. That's war, that's self-defense, not murder."

She looked up at him with blood shot eyes. "The last one felt like murder," she choked.

"Hermione, don't," Ron said, feeling a tear slip down his cheek.

"I can still feel his blood raining down on me. I was so cold and it was so hot. I could have stopped it. I could have cast a healing spell to stop the bleeding, I could have, but I didn't."

"You were exhausted. You had a wound in your side big enough for me to stick my fist through. Your leg was broken." Ron whispered.

"I held a shield charm for over six minutes. I could have cast a healing charm. I just didn't."

"It's not your responsibility to heal the people who are trying to kill you," Ron said firmly.

Hermione looked up at him again. "No? Then whose responsibility is it?"

Ron blew out an angry breath and clenched his teeth. She would not do this to him again. She'd shut down over this after the war and he'd handled it badly. Completely botched it, and he'd lost her to Viktor for three whole years as a result. He wouldn't let her go again. He took her firmly by the shoulders and gave her a little shake until she looked up at him. "Am I a murderer? Is Harry a murderer?"

She shook her head.

"Then how can you be one? We killed just as many people as you did."

"But I sat there and watched," Hermione said hollowly.

Ron took her chin and tilted her face up. "I'm sorry you had to watch that bastard die, luv, but that doesn't change the fact that it was war and during war you do things you wouldn't do otherwise. What if you'd cast a healing charm and he'd killed Harry or me the next week? We don't know what would have happened if you'd healed him. But I know what happened when you didn't. We survived. And now we've got a good life together, a son we can be proud of. We did that. I wouldn't change it, would you?"

She shook her head. "Of course not." She shifted and sat on the rug. "But

I can still see his face. I still have nightmares sometimes," she whispered.

Ron sat next to her and put his arm around her shoulders. "I can still see all their faces," he whispered back, "I still have nightmares sometimes too. I think that's just the price you pay for living through it." He kissed the top of her head and sat with her awhile. Finally he stood and held out a hand to her. "Come on."

"Where?"

"I'm going to draw us a bath and open a bottle of wine and we're going to sit in the tub until we feel better or until we want dinner, whichever comes first."

She took his hand and let him pull her to her feet and followed him upstairs. Ron drew the bath and Hermione sat next to the tub, and waited for it to fill, while he went to get a bottle of wine. She remembered the last time she'd been this upset about the war and how that had involved a bathtub too. Only that bath had been cold and full of ice cubes. She'd been rather stoned and Viktor had dunked her head in the water until she'd begged him to stop. To which he'd responded that she was a witch and could stop him herself. He'd dunked her three more times before she was clear headed enough to throw him off. She recalled that he'd grinned at her, which wasn't like him, and that they'd had sex there on the dirty bathroom floor of that filthy little house in Amsterdam. She trembled with the chill of the memory and the shame that it brought her.

Ron stepped into the bathroom with an open bottle of wine in one hand and two glasses in the other. He looked at her. "You look cold."

Hermione shook her head. "Just a sudden chill."

"Well, come on," Ron said, setting the wine and glasses on the vanity and reaching for her robes. "Let's get you into some nice hot water and I'll see if I can make that chill go away."

_I'm sure you can_, Hermione thought, _you always do._ A moment later she was chest deep in bubbles with Ron warm and wet behind her, rubbing her shoulders and kissing her neck. Hermione sighed and leaned back against him, he slipped his arms around her and held her.

She thought then that Ron was probably right. That having the past suddenly rip through the present was perhaps just the cost of surviving. That history charged a toll for continuing to live, but it was now that truly mattered. She would keep moving forward into tomorrow, and pay the price only when she had to.

I'd also like to thank everyone that has read this series and especially those that comment. I really appreciate your interest and your questions and commentary. It's great to get feedback and sometimes it gives me ideas for the next story. So thank you for being part of the process.


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